Sad)

Author's Note:

Link to OC Encyclopedia. You can find the bios for both Loud Mouth and Foxglove there.

In the past few months, Foxglove had learned quite a few new skills—picking locks, however, was not one of them.

Foxglove muttered a curse as his paperclip snapped in half. Even with magic, he had never been good at sensing the organs of a lock; no matter how much he practiced, he still couldn’t tell his bolts from his latches and his spindles from his plates. This was his third attempt—and his third failure—in only five minutes. He snatched the doorknob in his magic and jostled it a few times, more out of frustration than any real attempt to open it up.

With a snort, Foxglove threw the paperclip to the carpet and moved on to the next door in the hall. What was so classified in a radio station that they had to lock the doors? When he had been hired to temp as a security guard there, he had figured it would be easy pickings. Celebrities were usually careless, and left their things laying around, as if they were daring somepony to come and snatch them away. Even if they were only radio celebrities…

Foxglove hated the radio. Didn’t see the point of it. It certainly didn’t help that the radio he and his daughter owned was busted; no matter how much he turned the dial, all it could pick up were political talk shows. Not exactly his cup of tea.

His breath went short as an image of his daughter, Figgy, leapt through his mind. It was a memory from months ago: the two of them at a street fair, with the smell of popcorn light in the air. He remembered Figgy twirling, skipping, dancing to the music that drifted through the street. He’d love to have a way to let her listen to all the music she’d like. Anything to hear her laugh.

He shook the thought away and moved to pick the lock of the next door in the hall—only to freeze as he realized that it wasn’t locked. Smirking, he walked inside.

Lighting his horn illuminate the room, Foxglove trotted up to the wide desk at the end of the room and slid open one of the drawers. He reached inside.

His legs tensed as a door he hadn’t even noticed creaked open, and a gangly, tan pegasus stepped into the room.

Loud Mouth felt pathetic.

She smacked her hooves against her head and scowled. This was wrong. She was strong, beautiful, smart! As long as she believed in herself, anything could happen. She knew that. She was sure of that. Words like ‘pathetic’ wouldn’t get her anywhere.

Not that she was getting anywhere right now.

Groaning, she forced herself to lift her head from the desk again. She originally had a motivational seminar to speak at that night, but the rec center that had invited her decided to cancel. “Not enough interest,” they had said. So instead, she was sitting here in an empty studio, glaring at her one true love: the microphone.

She did this from time to time. She would ask her friend, Whammy Bar—host of Whammy’s Rock Universe on 103.4, “The Chimera”—if Whammy could leave her studio open for Loud to use. Whammy never asked questions, although Loud suspected that she knew what was going on.

Loud would sit in the studio and dream of having a show to call her own. She would whisper into the mic and practice her catchphrases. She would make lists in her head of what songs she would play, and how she would introduce them. She would giggle as she thought of all the funny sound effects she would play.

It was pathetic.

She took a deep breath, trying to crush the nausea flickering through her stomach. A glance at the clock up on the wall showed that it was nearly ten o’clock—it was high time for her to stop playing radio host and head home. She flicked off the small lamp that sat on the host’s desk and headed for the door.

Whammy Bar was lucky enough to have her studio be connected to her office. She had often joked that Loud should have her own set of keys, she used the studio so much. Loud just smiled and laughed along.

She walked into Whammy’s office and tried to picture what the office looked like so she could navigate in the dark—but her thoughts froze as she saw that another pony was in the room. She yelped and threw herself against the wall as the strange unicorn stumbled back a few steps.

The grey stallion was at least twice her size. A few stringy brown bangs fell over his face, nearly obscuring his eyes. Loud could just barely see his cutie mark, a bronze bell, half of which was covered by the thick blue jacket he wore. The jacket was the only thing about him that was familiar.

“Oh,” she sputtered, throwing a hoof to her heaving chest. “A security guard! I’m so sorry for shouting like that, Mr.”—she glanced at his nametag—“Foxglove!”

Foxglove’s eyes were wide. He took a few breaths before brushing the hair out of his face and smiling. “No problem at all, Miss…?”

“Loud Mouth.”

“Mhm.” Foxglove chuckled. His voice was gravelly, and he spoke with some strange mix of a Manehattan and Trottingham accent. “I’ve gotta say, I wasn’t expecting anyone to be knocking about here so late. Especially not a fine lass like yourself…”

I don’t think ‘fine lasses’ spend their nights babbling to themselves in empty studios…

Loud threw the thought away, even as a thick heat flooded her cheeks. Looking away, she said, “I just forgot something in Whammy’s studio and came back to get it. It was, uh…” She pointed to the tiny gem hanging from her right ear; the cheapest diamond her ex-coltfriend's money could buy. “I forgot my earring. I’m just so disorganized. Heh.”

At that, Foxglove’s eyes seemed to flash. Loud felt a chill crawl up her spine as Foxglove scanned her, hoof-to-mane, muzzle-to-flank, his purple eyes beady and solid. She bit her lip—but pushed the feeling away. This was someone specifically hired to keep the building safe; she had no reason to be nervous.

Foxglove’s smile faded a bit. “A lass like yourself shouldn’t be creeping around out. Wouldn’t do to see you get hurt. Head home, get some rest.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Loud said, forcing a laugh. She nodded and took a step toward the exit. “Have a good—“

She froze mid-step. From her new angle, she could now see more of Whammy Bar’s desk… and she could see that one of the drawers had been pulled open. She could see all of Whammy Bar’s things scattered about inside: personal notes and files, photos. Jewelry she kept in case she managed to snag a date during her lunch break.

And Foxglove was standing above it all. Any trace of a smile on his face had disappeared.

What was a security guard doing standing around in somepony’s office? And why was the drawer…?

She flicked her eyes back up at him, only to jump as she realized that he was staring straight at her. His gaze jabbed into her like a syringe. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out of her tightening throat.

“Let me guess,” Foxglove said, startling the wind from Loud’s lungs. “You’re wondering why I’m in your friend’s office?”

Loud paused for a moment before nodding.

Foxglove’s smile came back. He jerked his head toward the open drawer. “Your mate—Whammy asked me to check on her stuff, make sure it hadn’t been moved.”

Memories of Whammy Bar yelling at ponies who dared to go through her desk flew through Loud’s mind. Not even her best friends were allowed to touch the things she kept in there.

Loud Mouth choked out a laugh and put on a grin. “Okay!” she chirped, nodding. She took another step toward the door. “That… that’s fine. Now, if you’ll just excuse me—“

“Do you need someone to walk you to the exit?” Foxglove asked. His voice slid across the room like ice.

“No!” Loud yelped. Seeing Foxglove raise an eyebrow, she bit down the curses in her throat and stammered, “I know the way. I’m fine.”

A wave of calm rested upon Foxglove’s face, and Loud felt her lungs begin to loosen. She reached for the doorknob.

That was when Foxglove walked towards her. “Before you go,” he muttered, moving towards the door.

Loud’s entire body was rigid as he passed, his shaggy coat bristling against hers. The heavy smell of pickles wafted from him in waves, pooling in her nostrils and choking out her breath. She could see the muscles bulging in his legs, the gleam off of his sharpened horseshoes—she tried to swallow, but her throat felt like she had just eaten a boulder.

“If you’re not too busy,” Foxglove said, closing the door and locking it, “might you help me with something?”

It took Loud a moment to jerk her head into some version of a nod. “What?”

“Just thought it might be nice to have some company. Guarding is lonely work,” Foxglove said, walking back to the desk. From where he stood, he cast a glance back at Loud. “Got any family? Kids?”

Loud took a deep breath, trying to calm the shaking in her legs. “No.”

“So you don’t have anyone you need to provide for,” Foxglove said. He jerked the desk drawer open wider. “Anyone who’s counting on you.”

Loud watched as a purple glow sparked to life in Whammy Bar’s drawer. She could hear Foxglove moving her things around, pushing them aside—she gritted her teeth. “No, I don’t.”

Foxglove’s gaze tightened. “Mhm.” He pulled out a weathered photo of Whammy and her brother—

“Don’t touch that!” Loud yelled, wings flaring. Foxglove glared at her, and she flinched back, bumping into the wall. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

Foxglove laughed and put the picture back in the drawer. “I’m sorry. I’ve got no reason to touch something like that.” He shook his head and went back to rummaging. “I’m guessing you know the lass who owns this office?”

“She’s my friend,” Loud said in a shaking voice. Loud had worked at that station for six months, and Whammy had been the only one who ever talked to her, ever laughed with her, who ever cared about her. When Loud called her a friend, she wasn’t using the term lightly.

But if Whammy was really her friend, why wasn’t Loud doing anything to protect her things...?

“It’s great that a lass like you has a lot of friends,” Foxglove murmured. “Young fillies deserve to be happy.” He pulled out a shining silver necklace and held it in the air, letting the small sailboat-shaped charm hang. “Your friend has good taste in jewelry.”

Loud’s legs tensed as she watched Foxglove stare at the necklace, as if it were a piece of food. She thought about leaping forward, about pinning him to the ground and beating him into submission. But then she met Foxglove’s steely glare, and she froze up, her mind went fuzzy. She just stood there.

“Whammy worked a really long time to afford that,” Loud said, forcing her voice to steady. “She cares about it.”

“Then why does she leave it in her desk?”

Loud opened her mouth—but realized that she didn’t have an answer.

“All these radio types are overpaid anyway,” Foxglove said, gathering the long chain into a bundle. “I’m sure she could afford at least ten more. She’s not bothered.”

All the tension in Loud’s bones turned to nausea-laced sludge as Foxglove stuffed the necklace into a small pocket on his jacket. She wanted to scream, to tackle him, to do anything she could to stop being such a stupid, pathetic coward—but all she could do was bow her head and bite down the bile rising in her throat.

There was a thump as Foxglove slammed the desk drawer closed. The light from his horn glinted off the necklace in his pocket. He walked up to Loud, close enough that she could feel his hot breath traipsing along her mane.

“Let’s just keep quiet about this, alright?”

Loud didn’t answer.

“Well?”

She dug her hooves into the carpet—but nodded.

Foxglove smirked and unlocked the door.

A light jingle ran through the brisk night air as Foxglove stepped out of the pawn shop, a bulging bag of bits peeking out of his jacket. Standing in the middle of the street, he took a long breath. The stiff breeze rolling through a city was like a torrent of water against his skin, forcing him awake and sparking an onslaught of fresh thoughts.

The look on Loud Mouth’s face… the fear, the anger, the defeat. It was etched into his eyelids, as if it had been carved there.

He ran a hoof through his ragged mane and started on the path home. It was almost midnight; Figgy was supposed to be asleep, but he had no doubt that she was slumped against a window, watching the soft flicker of the streetlamps and waiting for her father to return. And as soon as she heard his hoofsteps outside the door, she would sprint to bed and pretend she was asleep, even as Foxglove crept into her room and placed a kiss on her forehead, even as he held her tight and basked in the smell of cinnamon that always seemed to waft from her mane.

Foxglove didn’t like hurting ponies. He wished he didn’t have to terrify Loud Mouth like he did—but he had to.

Loud was alone. She didn’t know what is was like to want something, to need something you can’t ever have. She didn’t know what it was like to watch a filly’s future fade before your eyes… unless you did something about it.

She didn’t have to care about anyone. Foxglove did. It was either stop stealing, or see his daughter go without. The choice was clear.

The bag of bits was heavy in his pocket. That necklace had earned him just enough to buy a decent radio; he couldn’t wait to see Figgy dance again.

It was almost sunrise, and Loud Mouth couldn’t sleep.

The mattress under her was soaked with sweat. Burning waves of sickness spilled through her veins. She tried to close her eyes, but whenever she did, all she could see was Foxglove standing above her best friend’s desk, that silver necklace hanging in his magic. She could see him slipping it away, not a single microbe of regret on his face.

And she had just watched.

Air escaped her. She smothered her face with a pillow, trying to crush the stinging beneath her eyes—but there was no stopping what was coming.

And yet, as she lay there, cursing into the fabric, she wasn’t scared. She wasn’t afraid of Foxglove, and how he could have hurt her. Could still hurt her. That wasn’t it.

All Loud could think about was Whammy’s face when she found out that her things had been touched, that her prized possessions had been stolen. She would yell, she would kick—and then, off in the shadows, with Loud Mouth stroking her mane, she would cry. Loud would be the only one who would know how upset she truly was.

And it was all her fault.

Loud could never tell her what happened. Loud could never tell her how sorry she was for just standing there, for just watching, for not doing anything to stop the thief. It was her burden alone.

As the sun rose, Loud Mouth cried.

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